


I'd Like to Sink

by liverstomp



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Prostitution, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9085999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liverstomp/pseuds/liverstomp
Summary: In which Wonwoo finds out not all sex is the same.





	

When relatives ask Wonwoo what he does for a living, he just tells them he’s hired help. It’s not necessarily a lie, not when you think about it the way Wonwoo does. People hire him when they need him; they give him money, and he gives them help. The definition of help is wide, and Wonwoo never specifies exactly what kind of help he offers.

University hadn’t worked out the way he always expected it to, and that’s no secret to those near enough, those involved. His long desired literature degree crumbled to dust while his eyes were still on it, blew off in the wind while he grasped blindly for it with numb fingers. He had to resign to the life of a dropout who never wanted to drop out, get an unsatisfying retail job that drastically overworked him, and hope that someday, things would get better.

It didn’t seem like a clear sign things would get better when a shady-looking guy in a long coat approached him while he was folding the tank tops for the display and rearranging them by color the way his boss insisted they had to be. It was always such a headache remembering the order she wanted them in, and after forty-seven continuous minutes of doing nothing else, he was always a little too close to snapping to be dealing with any customers. He did his best to ignore the guy, stodgy and grubby with a short, stubbly beard that was missing some patches, but he tapped Wonwoo on the shoulder with a stumpy finger.

“Anything I can help you with, sir?” Wonwoo asked mechanically, attention unwavering from the garment in his hands.

“You’re a very handsome young man,” the man said. His voice was thin and grating and made Wonwoo feel like he was going to gag, and when Wonwoo glanced over to take a look at him, he almost did. Absolutely not his type, not even if he was after a sugar daddy and willing to stoop a little lower.

“I’m sorry,” he coughed out with the most convincing smile he could manage, “but I’m, uh…” A disgusting chuckle took over where his words faded out, and the guy offered him a dubious looking business card. Wonwoo’s hand moved to take it despite his fierce inclination not to.

“Not like that,” the man grunted with a disturbing chuckle and lopsided grin. “But that’s my card.” Wonwoo wanted to say he could’ve assumed that much, but he kept his lips sealed. “If you contact me, I can hook you up with a gig that’ll pay you three times as much as you make here, at least.” Wonwoo’s heart sped up a little at the thought, but not enough to blind him to the sketchiness of the man before him. “Call if you’re interested.”

“Why should I even trust you?” he wanted to ask, but the man was already leaving, so he shoved the card into his pocket and returned to the tank tops. Shit. He forgot what color he was on.

Wonwoo was not interested until he was emptying his pockets before doing laundry the next week and found the card inside of one, crumpled and forlorn. It was only after a long and intense internal debate during which he decided he was tired of dragging one carton of milk out until a week past its expiration date that he decided it was worth a shot for the extra money, and once he picked up the phone and made the call, everything happened very, very fast.

It was a database, the man told him, where he would be listed as available for rental for a variety of things, and he’d receive a message whenever someone wanted to hire him. He can be removed from it within a month whenever he asks, the man told him, and he doesn’t have to take every job. But Wonwoo does take every job because he eventually wants to finance that beautiful literature degree, and as it happens, more often than not, the jobs are sex.

Today’s is sex too, and as Wonwoo walks down the sidewalk to find the apartment complex he’s been sent the address of, he can’t help but wonder if taking the opportunity was a mistake, and not for the first time. It’s always some gross old man in town for the night, some middle-aged crisis of a guy on a business trip who’s oh-so-excited to finally be away from his wife, the kind with so much excessive money that they can afford to pay exorbitant rates some twinky kid for an hour or two of release, rates that are even higher because Wonwoo’s sharp jawline and deep voice make him popular enough to cost more. Today, though, Wonwoo’s inclined not to think it’s one of these guys, and only because the address he’s headed to is an apartment complex instead of a ritzy hotel whose patronage is almost exclusively old businessmen.

He finds the complex without much trouble and meanders his way in. It’s a very mediocre space, the same kind he lives in but just a tad more upscale, and when he buzzes the specified room, he’s pleased to hear a voice younger than 45 on the other side.

“Hello?” the voice calls unsurely, and Wonwoo clears his throat.

“Uh, I’m Wonwoo,” he begins, looking down at his email for the name. “I’m here for—”

“Come right up!” The words bubble forth excitedly, and Wonwoo hears a click not long after letting him know he’s free to enter the elevator and head up, so he does so without delay.

The kid who opens the door—and he really is a kid, too, no way he could be older than Wonwoo with that youthful glow on his face and twinkle in his eyes—is so much more pleasing to the eyes than all of Wonwoo’s previous clients that he feels like he might die. He has a big, welcoming smile, just crooked enough that it might remind you of the close childhood friend you never had, and absolutely not the type of image Wonwoo would typically associate with sex.

“Come on in,” the boy says, friendly and just a little jittery, and Wonwoo takes a few wary steps into the apartment before looking at his phone for the name.

“Are you Mingyu?” he asks, and the kid bobs his head in affirmation, leading Wonwoo through a cluttered living room and to a marginally less cluttered bedroom. Mingyu sits down on his bed and faces Wonwoo head on while he stands in the doorway, smile slightly subdued but still very present. Wonwoo spends a good few minutes sizing him up before blurting out, “Can you really afford to have me for two hours?” Mingyu’s smile slips off his face just a little bit more.

“I mean, yeah,” he mutters. “I saved up for a long time, so, you know.”

“Saved up?” Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s ever heard of anyone doing that before. “Why would you do that?”

“Well,” Mingyu starts a little awkwardly, “it’s my first time, so I just really wanted it to be with a good-looking guy.” Wonwoo pauses from where he was slipping his jacket, eyes widening as he fixes them on Mingyu. He smiles back meekly from the bed, all subtle charm and handsome features.

“No way,” Wonwoo barks. “It is not your first time.”

“It _is_ actually,” Mingyu informs him, top lip quivering in uncertainty, like he can’t quite understand why Wonwoo isn’t buying it. Of course Wonwoo isn’t buying it. This isn’t the kind of face that pays someone to be their first time. This is the kind of face other people pay to have as _their_ first time. Wonwoo scrutinizes him carefully, eyes out for a flaw that doesn’t make itself known.

“Why not just go out and get yourself a boyfriend, then?” Mingyu glares, sort of, like he’s mad but not enough.

“You think I didn’t think of that?” he asks. Wonwoo feels stupid and rude for asking even though he doesn’t usually give a shit what clients think of him. Most clients aren’t like this. “Besides,” Mingyu continues, cheeks lightly pink, “guys as attractive as you don’t just _exist_ out there.” What a childish thing to say, a juvenile sentiment to believe, but Mingyu looks so serious.

“Oh.” Wonwoo shifts his weight back and forth for a minute, momentarily forgetting why he’s here at all, until Mingyu gulps and clears his throat a little.

“So,” he starts, shaky, “I’m not really sure how this works usually, but when we, like, do it, I want you to be on top.” Wonwoo might choke.

“That’s fine,” he understates. God, is it so much more than fine. He’s so weary of being on the receiving end, just a tool for all those unpracticed men creeping toward their hundreds, and the thought of finally being free of that, if just this once, is enough to draw tears. Before any have time to start falling, he begins hastily unstuffing his pockets to set the condoms and lube he brought on the bedside table. Mingyu’s eyes widen perceptibly as he eyes it, and without much further ado, Wonwoo pulls his shirt off.

“Oh my God,” Mingyu sputters, cheeks coloring. He hides his face behind his hands for a second before uncovering it again, smile giddy and nervous in the same breath. With trembling fingers, he peels his own shirt off. His body is soft but not, nicer than Wonwoo expected, and he finds his own heartbeat getting a little quick. He can’t remember the last time he was actually excited about anything related to sex, but he wants Mingyu to finish taking his clothes off.

Wonwoo decides to help him out. He unbuttons Mingyu’s pants and slides them down a mile of leg, long and thick and muscular, then slips his briefs down to join them. Mingyu seems like he has a giggle caught in his throat, eyes glued to Wonwoo forever and beyond, hands pressed to his own chest like he has to make sure his heart is still behind his ribs and beating like it needs to. He’s so cute Wonwoo thinks he might get a headache.

With Mingyu stripped, Wonwoo figures he may as well join him, so he shimmies out of his pants and underwear quickly, pulling each sock off individually. Mingyu lets out a tiny squeal from where he sits and clamps a hand over his mouth immediately. He acts so much smaller than he is, and Wonwoo can’t hold back the chuckle that bursts through his lips.

“It’s fine,” he promises, lifting the bottle of lube to let some dribble out onto his fingers. “You can make as much noise as you want. It’s your apartment.” It feels so strange to be reassuring in this situation, but Mingyu nods a little bit and lets his hand fall to the duvet, where it clutches frantically. Wonwoo guides his hand to Mingyu’s ass and lets it hover there, waiting for the okay. “Are you ready?” he asks softly.

Mingyu bobs his head so fervently it seems like his momentum will keep it going forever, up and down and back again until the end of time. “Yeah,” he whispers, jolting when he feels Wonwoo’s first fingertip edge its way into his asshole. “Be… be gentle,” comes a soft whimper, and Wonwoo nods back while he pushes in deeper, watches Mingyu’s knuckles go white.

This is so different, so wildly different from the usual, and Wonwoo doesn’t want to accept whatever Mingyu is going to pay him. His wallet tells him he has to, his bills say he better, but he doesn’t think he deserves it. He pushes a second finger in and Mingyu whines, high and wobbly, and Wonwoo leans forward to kiss it quiet, tongue catching something sweet on Mingyu’s lips. He mewls into Wonwoo’s mouth, grips at his forearm like his life depends on it, and this is nothing like sex the way Wonwoo remembers it, nothing at all. Maybe it’s not even sex; Wonwoo’s half convinced it isn’t.

Everywhere Wonwoo touches, Mingyu’s dark skin flushes deep red, a burning and beautiful scarlet that Wonwoo chases with his lips until it’s spread over every inch like a rabid wildfire. After three fingers, Wonwoo rolls a condom on and lines his cock up, pressing slowly into Mingyu with a drawn out hum.

“Oh my God,” Mingyu gasps, breathy and light, eyes squeezing shut and legs shaking. “Oh my God.” His eyes blink slowly back open when Wonwoo’s sheathed himself fully, chest heaving with every labored breath. Wonwoo lays his palm flat over Mingyu’s chest, slick with sweat and absolutely boiling.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and he doesn’t know why he sounds so tender or why he thinks he needs to. Mingyu jerks his chin in a tense nod, and Wonwoo pushes damp hair off his forehead on impulse.

“I’m okay,” he manages, not sounding very okay. His grip on Wonwoo’s arm is unrelenting. “You can move,” he allows, so Wonwoo does, slow as he can, careful and measured.

Wonwoo is in love, or he thinks he wants to be. A hand slides from Mingyu’s chest to his dick and wraps around to stroke in time with Wonwoo’s languid thrusts, and each tug is a breathless hitch in Mingyu’s mouth, an airy moan that has no weight but carries forever. He’s never heard a voice he’s liked even half this much, never been quite as affected by the sound of each slap when he thrusts into Mingyu, never been so enamored with someone’s half-lidded eyes and glistening face.

Mingyu moans when Wonwoo hits a good spot, nice and loud over the sound of rustling sheets and shifting bodies. He rocks back with his hips to get Wonwoo to hit it again, desperate and wailing while Wonwoo strokes him, fast and hard. Without meaning to, the pace picked up to breakneck, right up until Wonwoo’s slamming into Mingyu’s ass at full force as fast as his hips will take him. With every pound, Mingyu’s groans grow sweeter and more lewd, and Wonwoo thinks he’s almost singing, thinks he might quit this and go back to his day job if Mingyu asked him to.

“God!” Mingyu cries, high and loud, when Wonwoo nails that sweet spot again, pulling him down until their lips are melting into each other. “Please, oh God,” he mumbles against Wonwoo’s lips, hands like a vice behind his neck. “Wonwoo—” A sob chokes him right there and he’s coming, sticky and white and all over both of them. Wonwoo keeps going until he’s coming too, a few more shallow strokes to let Mingyu ride out his own orgasm, and then he’s pulling out and peeling the soiled condom off.

When he starts to wipe his chest off, he feels a touch on his arm and sees Mingyu rolled over on the bed, spent and sticky, eyes almost closed. “You can use the shower,” he tells him, barely coherent. “I need to… I will, too.” He’s visibly struggling to keep his eyes open, but stay open they do, sparkling and shrouded with haze. “Will you stay a little longer?” Wonwoo takes a glance at the wall clock.

“There’s still time,” he says with a smile.

He stays until they’ve both showered and Mingyu’s offered him a glass of everything in the fridge until Wonwoo was forced into accepting a glass of water. He wonders if Mingyu will say anything to him about his job, ask him why he does it, ask him if he’ll do it forever. Wonwoo isn’t prepared with those answers, and thankfully, all Mingyu talks about is how nice the weather is and how he hopes it’ll stay that way, how Wonwoo is very handsome (and he has a blush dusting his face when he says it), how he needs to go buy groceries soon. Wonwoo checks his phone again and he’s well overstayed his bill.

“Thank you,” Mingyu says softly when Wonwoo lets himself find the door, smile warm and whole and something Wonwoo would like to see again. Wonwoo nods before he shuts the door, but he doesn’t want thanks. He wants more of something he can’t put a name on. For the first time in a while, he wants to get a new job. Mostly, he wants to know if he’ll see Mingyu again after he steps in that elevator.

He doesn’t stop thinking about Mingyu, doesn’t even come close. After another week, he sends an email saying he wants out and gets one back saying he’ll be removed from the system within a month. It’s liberating and not, because now he has to find another job, and in the meantime, he needs to take all the work he can to make sure he doesn’t die, which means a lot of gross sex that’s only grosser now that he’s been reminded how much better it could be. He may not find Mingyu again on the other side of the rainbow, but knowledge that there’s one person like that out there is enough for him to feel good about it.

When he has just shy of two weeks left in the database, he gets a job at an apartment complex he couldn’t forget if he wanted to attached to a name he hasn’t been able to get out of his head since God knows when. In his excitement, he arrives twenty minutes early, and he spends ten of them poring over the email before pressing the call button. The purpose of today’s visit it unspecified in the message, and Wonwoo wishes that didn’t make him so nervous because what is he, twelve? He’s biting his lip to hell and back when he finally just caves and presses the stupid button.

No sooner is the click hitting his ears than Wonwoo is rumbling out an, “It’s Wonwoo.” Mingyu is so stunned by the quick announcement that he doesn’t say anything for a full minute.

“Come on up,” he says at last, still cheery, and Wonwoo hears the door click before too long to let him into the elevator.

Just like last time, Mingyu greets him with a wide smile, warm and welcoming, and Wonwoo didn’t think seeing someone’s face could make him so happy, yet here he is, fit to burst at just the sight of him. The apartment is warmer this time and smells delicious, though Wonwoo can’t pin down the scent. Mingyu guides him into a chair at the counter, and Wonwoo notices that he’s wearing an apron only when he turns around.

“You’re a little early,” he mutters, peeking into the oven, “so dinner’s not ready yet, but it will be soon, so you can just, uh, hang out, I guess.”

“You’re making dinner?” Context clues should have gotten him there, but it still catches him off guard. Mingyu turns around with a shy smile, and he looks like such a kid even though he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he admits sheepishly, tracing the corner of a tile with his toes. “I mean, I thought it would be nice to have dinner together, so I made it, you know, and I just… you know…” He’s filling Wonwoo with hope and deflating him at the same time.

“You shouldn’t pay people to have dinner with you,” Wonwoo tells him, and Mingyu’s face falls fast, straight into a dead-set frown. He doesn’t meet Wonwoo’s eyes when he speaks again, and his own churn with something that’s hard to place.

“I _know_ that,” he says, mildly bitter. “I know I need to, like, meet a real person and stuff, but I was just…” He throws his hands up in frustration, then crosses them over his chest. “I thought it would be nice to eat with you, and I just… God, I don’t know.” Wonwoo give him a long, hard look before saying anything.

“You won’t be able to buy me anymore,” he tells him, and Mingyu’s eyes shoot up in an instant.

“What?” He sounds a little lost.

“In a few weeks,” Wonwoo explains, “I’ll be out of the database. Nobody will be able to buy me anymore.”

A pause stretches on forever before Mingyu says, “Oh.” Wonwoo doesn’t know what kind of look he has on his face because the oven starts beeping and he turns back around to get it without another word.

Dinner is amazing. Wonwoo can’t remember the last time he had a meal this good, and he doesn’t hesitate to let Mingyu know between bites. A small smile shines on Mingyu’s face at every compliment, but he doesn’t respond otherwise, just murmurs small thank yous from behind his fork and maintains a hard stare at his plate. Wonwoo wants to say more, but the silence is so heavy, so he just keeps eating.

With ten minutes remaining of purchased time, there is no food left and little reason for Wonwoo to stay, so he rises from the table and back reluctantly to the door. Mingyu follows him, dejected gaze cast unwaveringly toward the floor, but Wonwoo can’t bring himself to step across the threshold once he’s reached it, only rocking back onto his heels hesitantly. Mingyu coughs once.

“This is it, then, I guess?” he asks, and he sounds sad, so unfairly sad. Wonwoo wants to grab him by the shoulders and kiss it away, but that’s not a solution. “Thank you for having dinner with me.”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo starts, taking in a big breath. “Thank you for buying me, but I never want you to do it again.” Mingyu quirks an eyebrow.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” he asks, unsure and vaguely hurt. “I can’t afford you again, and then you’ll be gone, so…”

“I haven’t thought about anything but you for three weeks,” Wonwoo blurts, and he can feel his face is red when Mingyu tears his eyes from the floor to look at him, feel the way his heart is hammering and telling him to just let words fall free. “I don’t want your stupid money,” he continues, pulling out his phone to check the time. “I’m off the clock in six minutes, and I want to stay here. With you.”

“I think I…” Mingyu furrows his brow, but he’s still pretty. “I don’t think I understand.”

“I don’t want you to be a client,” Wonwoo explains, inching closer. “I want your number. I want to see you sometimes. I want to have dinner with you because I want to have dinner with you and not because you have to pay both arms and legs for me to show up. I want a regular job and I don’t want to have to fuck nasty old men when I know you’re out there and I’m just thinking about you anyway.” Mingyu’s jaw hangs loose while he stares back, eyes wide and glittery and overflowing with confusion.

“Do you want to come back inside?” Mingyu asks, and Wonwoo chases him in by the lips.

Wonwoo neglected to bring his usual supplies today, but Mingyu seems to have some prepared, pristine and unopened and ready to use. It occurs to Wonwoo as he breaks the cap to the bottle of lube open the Mingyu might have bought it all for last time because he didn’t know who had to provide what, and it’s cute, too cute. He turns around to help Mingyu get his pants off and sees that they’ve already been removed and tossed to the floor along with everything else. Wonwoo wiggles his own clothes off before dowsing his fingers in lube and poking gently at the tight ring of muscle in Mingyu’s ass.

Things are so much faster today, so much hazier and hotter, and Wonwoo is already feverish when he’s barely even gotten a finger in Mingyu’s ass. Mingyu is so much louder today and Wonwoo can’t pinpoint why, but he loves it. Each grunt sends a rush of blood from his brain to his cock, and he wishes he could get his fingers to work a little faster without going crazy. By the time he’s got three in, Mingyu is whining so loudly Wonwoo thinks he might faint. Even with the fervor and frenzy, it’s still so much sweeter than what he’s used to. He presses wet kisses to Mingyu’s neck while he pushes his dick in, muffled moans resonating through his chest.

The pace he sets his slow, deep thrusts that match with hard strokes to Mingyu’s cock. He’s whimpering after each one, some euphoric sort of sob that sounds impossibly close to a chorus of angels. “Oh my God,” he mewls, back arching away from the sheets, fingers crawling through Wonwoo’s hair. “You’re so gorgeous.” He says it over and over again, each time a little more breathless and high-pitched. “You’re so good.” His hands find Wonwoo’s back and press down insistently, stubby fingernails leaving trails. “More… I want… I l-love…” He breaks again around a dirty moan, and Wonwoo fills his mouth with his own tongue, thrusts quickening sharply.

Everything is so loud, and Mingyu is louder, crying out with each move. Wonwoo’s hand is a blur before his own eyes, and Mingyu clenching so tightly around him only spurs him to go harder, faster, deeper. Every pitch Mingyu’s voice hits sounds like the world in a second, and Wonwoo is desperate to hear it all. He knows he hits Mingyu’s prostate when his entire body quakes and he hums out a moan that lasts forever and rattles around inside Wonwoo’s ribs. He’s close, Wonwoo knows he is, and all he wants is to hear his voice, see his face when he comes. He tilts Mingyu’s chin so they’re looking at each other, and when Wonwoo nails him one more time, he watches the contortion of pleasure, hears the muted scream, feels the tremors that rock his entire form and the sticky white that shoots out onto his stomach. God, it’s such a sight, and it makes it so easy for Wonwoo to orgasm while he bucks up into Mingyu a few more times, filling the condom like he never knew he could.

The duvet is cold in comparison when Wonwoo covers them with it, still coated in cooling sweat and the cum he couldn’t quite get wiped off. Mingyu is spent, eyes drooping into delicate crescents as he lies there, and Wonwoo tucks Mingyu into his side. His hair smells like peach shampoo, clean and lovely, and it only makes Wonwoo tighten his grip and draw him closer, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Love,” Mingyu mumbles, groggy. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, probably doesn’t even know he’s talking, but his voice could carry for miles. “I think… I love you.” He’s snoring in a second, and Wonwoo can’t bring himself to do anything but chuckle.

He wants to say it, too, but he won’t, not yet. Not until he’s a little more certain. Not until he has a new job. Not until he has Mingyu’s number in his phone, until he’s had dinner with him again. No, he won’t say it yet, but he’s surer than sure he’ll say it sometime, and Mingyu will be wide awake to hear it.


End file.
